


go astray with me

by redluxite (wordstruck)



Series: VLD One-Shots [21]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Daddy Kink, Hand Job, M/M, Mafia AU, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, other minor kinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 13:37:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16265312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordstruck/pseuds/redluxite
Summary: Keith is under his skin, in his lungs, in his head, and Shiro hates himself for letting it get to this but he knows he never had a chance to resist. He’s held out this long, held Keith at arm’s length, but Keith has always been the worst kind of tease, his destruction personified. Shiro’s only human; he has limits, haswants.And he could never deny it: he wants Keith. Badly.(A quick PWP Mafia AU)





	go astray with me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sochan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sochan/gifts).



> So a couple of things combined to make this fic, namely:  
> 1) Sochan wanting more bottom!Keith fic, and who am I not to provide for my beloved wife;  
> 2) I'm sick and confined to the bed so I'm venting via fuckyness; and  
> 3) I've always wanted to write a PWP Mafia AU for Sheith so here we are.
> 
> I alternatively call this fic _I put Rihanna's Desperado on loop for an hour and threw up fucky stuff on GDocs._ This is technically a mash-up of existing mafia AU fics I've written but modified. And hey, I love Keith being a brat, okay.
> 
> Unbeta'd; will be edited retrospectively. Enjoy!

* * *

 

 

Arusia is always the same whenever they come here.

Shiro slumps on one of the couches in the VIP area, head leaned back and eyes shut. Places like these are decidedly not his scene, a little too loud and overcrowded, the press of too many bodies moving to a bass beat that thuds in your bones. But the troublesome stray cat he’s supposed to be minding likes coming here, and so here Shiro is, wondering if he shouldn’t get another drink.

“Clubs not your thing, huh?” comes an amused voice, raised slightly over the music.

Shiro opens his eyes to find a rather attractive man smirking down at him over the rim of his beer. His brown hair is matted to his forehead with sweat, and a black muscle tee shows off nicely tanned skin. Shiro generally doesn’t pick up men while he’s on the job, but perhaps tonight he can make an exception.

“Not so much,” he answers with a laugh, and the man takes a seat on the couch beside him.

“So what brings you here, then?” he asks.

Shiro’s about to answer, try to come up with something hopefully both witty and flirtatious, when lithe fingers creep over his shoulder and he smells a familiar mix of alcohol, smoke, and perfume.

“And who,” says that clipped, lilting voice, all venom and velvet, “are you?”

Shiro half-turns to answer, but Keith suddenly and gracefully slides into his lap, throwing long legs in knee-high boots over Shiro’s thighs. The other man blanches in recognition. Shiro doesn’t have to look to know what Keith looks like draped over him – the garters around his thighs, the obscenely short shorts; the way his oversized shirt bares a slender shoulder and leather collar. The look in his eyes whenever he sees Shiro with anyone else.

The other man’s expression shifts, eyes narrowing. “I’m—”

“Leaving.” Keith cuts him off with an insincere smile, dragging a hand down Shiro’s chest to cup the fly of his pants. Shiro’s mouth pinches as he takes a shaky breath and prays for mercy. (He gets none.) He smiles weakly, apologetically to the man, who walks away with a roll of his eyes. He’s learned well enough it’s not worth it to protest.

(And besides, he’s always been weak to everything this infuriating brat does.)

He turns to Keith, intent on asking what the _hell_ that was about, when Keith abruptly gets off his lap. He grabs Shiro by the hand and drags him off. Shiro watches the way his braid is already half-undone, spilling down his back.

“Keith—”

“Dance with me.” Keith pulls him to the VIP section of the dance floor, through the crowd.

“Keith, I can’t—”

“You’ll do what I want.” Abruptly, Keith comes to a halt, shoves Shiro back and then spins around, leaning against his bodyguard so they’re back-to-chest. And Shiro already knows this is a bad idea, it’s not that much more private up here, everyone can see, _will_ see – the way Keith presses back against him, moving his body; the way this boy tips his head back and bares a slender throat; the barely-restrained desire on Shiro’s face as he tries not to think about the pert ass pressed against his cock through layers of clothing. Keith reaches for Shiro’s hands and splays them over his hips, grinds his ass back. Shiro shudders on the inhale, buries his face in Keith’s shoulder, grits his teeth.

(Keith is under his skin, in his lungs, in his head, and Shiro hates himself for letting it get to this but he knows he never had a chance to resist. He’s held out this long, held Keith at arm’s length, but Keith has always been the worst kind of tease, his destruction personified. Shiro’s only human; he has limits, has _wants._ And he could never deny it: he wants Keith. Badly.)

“ _Shiro._ ” Keith sighs his name, barely audible over the music, and it’s everything Shiro’s imagined hearing when he’s alone at night, when he allows himself the guilty pleasure of imagining this infuriating brat in his bed, underneath him. This is dangerous, this is bad, Kolivan is going to have him skinned alive for touching his adoptive son like this. Bodyguards don’t sleep with their charges, especially not mafia princes. But then Keith’s turning in his arms and grinning up at him, open-mouthed. Keith drags his hands down Shiro’s shirt, palming the front of his pants, and Shiro’s hands tighten over slim hips as he presses his mouth to soft hair.

Keith leans in, words like a brand on Shiro’s skin. “Take me home.”

There’s no way Shiro can say no.

 

If he doesn’t think about it, Shiro can pretend this is just like any other time Keith makes Shiro take him out on his motorbike to somewhere, anywhere in Garrison City. When Keith grins at him, teases fingers over his arms and tells Shiro to take him somewhere fun. Except it’s far too late at night and Keith’s hands are snuck under his shirt, and they’re not headed to any random place Shiro can think of that will make Keith smile. Except Shiro’s unlocking the door to his apartment while Keith leans against the opposite wall and watches him impatiently. Except they’re alone in Shiro’s apartment now, with Shiro’s fingers threaded through dark hair as Keith kisses him wet, hungry, heated.

“Kitten,” he breathes out, tugging Keith closer by the hips so Shiro can press his face into the side of Keith’s neck and regain some composure. “Don’t—”

Keith rips away and claims his mouth again. It’s a weak protest, in truth. They shouldn’t but Shiro wants to; he’s always wanted to.

He growls then as he tips forward, kissing Keith hot and heavy; palms that pert ass through short shorts and lets himself take what’s offered. Everything that Keith wants, Shiro is helpless to give. He shucks off his jacket, mouth never leaving Keith’s, and then the other boy’s hands are under his shirt and pushing it up. Shiro’s hands go back to Keith’s ass, hauling him up and around to press against the wall. Shiro bites at plush lips and Keith moans into the kiss, dragging his nails over Shiro’s shoulders.

“Fuck me,” Keith gasps when they break away, and Shiro makes a strangled noise as Keith grinds his hips down.

 _Fuck,_ but this boy will be the death of him.

He drops Keith so the boy can get his shorts off, tossing them somewhere in the apartment for them to find later. Shiro runs his thumbs over where the garters indent skin, the ruffles the same striking red Keith always wears. The lace of his boy shorts is distended by his cock, and Shiro traces fingers down the fabric, making Keith shiver. He keeps teasing like this, light touches, palming Keith through his underwear until the other boy has his nails digging into Shiro’s back, hips rocking desperately, breath hot over Shiro’s skin.

“Shiro,” he whines, “please, _please_ ” but Shiro keeps going, toying with him until Keith cries out and shudders into climax, staining the black lace with cum.

He steadies Keith for a moment, letting the other boy catch his breath, pressing an open mouth to Keith’s hair.

“ _Now_ I can fuck you,” Shiro says, grinning, and Keith shoves at him.

“Better make good on that,” he counters, reaching up to bite Shiro’s lip, and then he heads for the bedroom.

 

Keith in his bed like this, on hands and knees as he pushes Shiro down and gets a mouth to his cock, is better than any fantasy Shiro’s ever allowed himself. The sight of those pretty lips stretched over his cock goes right to his head; Shiro has to fight to keep from thrusting up into wet heat, to keep from pulling too hard at Keith’s hair as the boy ducks down and _sucks._ Keith blows him like he’s being paid for it, hollowing his cheeks and taking Shiro’s cock as far as he can get it, lithe fingers stroking what his mouth can’t take. Then he moans and Shiro bites back a shout.

He pulls Keith off before he tips over the edge, hauls Keith on top of him to kiss, to worship. He rolls them over and presses Keith into the mattress, littering his neck and shoulders with bites and open-mouthed kisses. Shiro works his way down, down, working a pert nipple with tongue and teeth, then kissing over a taut stomach. He grins when he gets to where Keith’s cock distorts the lace again, licking up once before pulling away.

“Shiro,” Keith bites out, but Shiro shushes him with another kiss.

“Patience, baby,” he teases, then he turns Keith over.

A little later and he has Keith on his knees and bent forward, chest pushed into the sheets, hands tied behind him. The lace underwear hangs off one ankle. Behind him, Shiro fingers him open, stretching and thrusting ruthlessly. Keith squirms, writhes, makes beautiful, hitched noises; Shiro twists his wrist and takes the boy apart.

Keith’s ass is in the air, cheeks pink and stinging from where Shiro’s hand had left its marks. His shoulders are tensed, back arched, skin flushed all over. His cock is leaking onto the sheets.

He’s exquisite.

Shiro kisses down Keith’s spine, bites at the curve of his ass. When he withdraws his fingers, Keith whines.

“Shiro,” he gasps, trying to rock his hips back. His hair is matted to his skin; his lips are spit-slick. But then there’s a mouth on Keith’s ass and he has to muffle a shout.

Shiro eats him out thoroughly, until Keith is writhing and moaning into the sheets. He gets a hand to Keith’s cock but doesn’t move, just teases with his fingers. His tongue is relentless, lips pressing in a perverse imitation of a kiss, turning Keith into a shaking, wanton mess. Until he’s on the brink and pushing back against Shiro’s face.

He pulls away right then, right before Keith comes a second time. The other boy cries out, but Shiro just kisses his shoulder.

“Down, kitten,” he murmurs, and Keith growls at him. Shiro pulls away with a laugh, splays wide palms over Keith’s hips and hauls his ass up, spreading him open. He stops short of pushing in, though, cock heavy between Keith’s thighs.

“Takashi,” Keith bites out then, and _oh,_ that isn’t fair. Shiro’s hands tighten, pressing dents into plush skin. He strokes over the small of Keith’s back.

“Ask nicely,” he tells Keith, softly, tauntingly. A hand reaches out to grab a fistful of Keith’s hair and pull, forcing Keith’s back into an obscene and pretty arch.

“Please,” Keith says breathlessly. He has little leverage in this position but he tries anyway, pushing his hips back, desperate to feel Shiro inside and around him. Shiro only tugs his hair again.

“You can do better than that, kitten,” he murmurs.

Keith twists as best as he can in Shiro’s hold, looking over at Shiro with half-lidded eyes. The hair not in Shiro’s grip is in disarray. There are marks all over his skin. His lips are kiss-bruised. He looks thoroughly debauched.

“Please, _daddy,_ ” he whines, hoarse and needy.

Shiro grins. “Good kitten,” he says, and then he pushes in.

He spares slow and teasing for another time, fucking into Keith hard and fast, sharp snaps of his hips. The room fills with the filthy sound of skin on skin, of Keith’s litany of curse words and Shiro’s name. A little later and Shiro pulls out, yanking the tie off Keith’s wrists and turning him around. He hauls Keith’s ass up, hooks long legs still in their boots and ruffled garters over his shoulders, and sinks back inside. Keith’s hands scrabble for a hold on the pillows above him as he cries out.

“Fuck – Shiro, _Shiro_ – yes – oh god – fuck me—”

Shiro makes a strangled noise through gritted teeth and presses forward, bracing his prosthetic arm on the bed as he thrusts harder. Keith clenches around him and Shiro groans.

“Come on, kitten,” he pants, getting a hand to Keith’s cock and tugging. “Come for me, pretty boy, so good for me, come on—”

“ _Fuck—!_ ” Keith’s second orgasm hits him hard and fast; he throws his head back, Shiro’s name caught in his throat as he comes all over himself. Shiro fucks him through it, not stopping until he’s followed Keith over the edge, filling him up, and Keith is sobbing his name.

 

A little later, once they’ve both caught their breath, they lie together, tangled in the sheets. Keith idly traces the tattoo that covers Shiro’s left arm, up his bicep and over his shoulder. Shiro has his arm around Keith, thumb tracing idle circles on the small of his back.

“I need to take you back soon,” Shiro says, breaking the silence. He does; Kolivan will be wondering where Keith is. And Shiro still has to do his job.

Keith makes a disparaging noise against his skin and burrows against Shiro, tucking his head in the crook of Shiro’s shoulder. “No,” he mumbles, stretching himself against Shiro like a lazy cat. It makes Shiro sigh, even as his mouth twists into a fond smile. He really is so far gone for this brat.

“I’ll have to, eventually,” he points out. Keith snorts, and it dissolves into a laugh when Shiro gets his fingers to the curve of his ribs. He throws his head back and tries to squirm away, but Shiro catches Keith in his arms, gets hands on warm, pliant skin.

This is – bad; this doesn’t mean anything, it shouldn’t, but Shiro looks at the way Keith smiles up at him and he _wants._ Bodyguards don’t sleep with their charges but Shiro has a bratty mafia prince naked in his bed. But Keith lifts his head to kiss him, and Shiro decides he’s damned either way. So they kiss and they kiss, long and lazy, until Keith’s rolled them over so Shiro’s weight pushes him into the mattress.

“Take me back in the morning,” he murmurs against Shiro’s lips, hand already trailing back down his chest. Shiro shuts his eyes and kisses Keith’s neck.

“Fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come say hi on social media – I'm on Twitter as [@okw_tr](https://twitter.com/okw_tr) (NSFW Twit [@redluxite](https://twitter.com/redluxite) – 18+ only) and Tumblr as [okwtr](https://okwtr.tumblr.com) ^__^ You can check there for ways to support my art/writing!


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